Forty Years in the Wilderness of Pills and Powders: Cogitations and Confessions of an Aged PhysicianAlcott, William A. (William Andrus)
Science
Forty Years in the Wilderness of Pills and Powders: Cogitations and Confessions of an Aged Physician
Alcott, William A. (William Andrus)
Medicine -- Anecdotes
I saw her difficulties; but, as I have already intimated, I did not look
so wise as Dr. B., nor had I so grave a face, nor so large an abdomen. I
could neither tell so good a story, nor laugh so heartily; I could not
even descend to that petty talk which is so often greatly preferred to
silence or newspaper reading, not only by such individuals as Mrs. B.
and her friends, but by most families. A physician must be a man of
sympathy. He need not, however, descend to so low a level as that of
dishonesty; but he must come down to the level of his people in regard
to manners and conversation. He must converse with them in their own
language. He must not only _seem_ to be devoted, unreservedly, to their
interests, but must actually _be_ so. This confession is most cheerfully
and sincerely and honestly made; and may he who reads it understand.
On a certain occasion I was called to prescribe in a family where the
disappointment was so great that the patient was actually made worse by
my presence, and an unfavorable turn given to the disease. It may be
said that people ought not to yield themselves up to the influence of
such feelings; and it is certainly true that they ought not. But sick
people are not always rational, nor even judicious. Dr. Johnson says:
"Every sick man is a rascal;" but we need not go quite so far as that.
Sickness changes us, morally, sometimes for the better, but much oftener
for the worse; and in general it makes us much less reasonable.
But it is far enough from being my intention to present a full account
of the trials incident to the life of a young medical man; for, in order
to do this, I should be obliged to carry you with me, at least mentally,
to places which you would not greatly desire to visit. Physicians can
seldom choose their patients; they are compelled to take them as they
find them. They will sometimes be called to the vilest of the vile and
the filthiest of the filthy.
Their office is indeed a noble one; but is noblest of all when performed
honestly, in the fear of God, with a view to do good, and not merely to
please mankind and gratify their own ambition. Above all, they should
not practise medicine for the mere love of money. A physician should
have a heart overflowing with benevolence, and should feel it incumbent
upon him, at every step in his professional life, not only to do good to
his patients, but to all around him. He should be a guide to mankind,
physically, for moral ends. He should let his light so shine, that they,
seeing his good works, may be led to glorify the Father who is in
heaven. His object should be to spread, by the good he performs, the
everlasting gospel, just as truly as this should be the object of him
who ministers in holy things at the altar. Such a physician, however, at
first, I was not. Such, however, I soon aspired to be; such, as I trust,
I at length became. Of this, however, the reader will judge for himself,
by-and-by. "By their fruits ye shall know them."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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